


i crack my teeth on pearls

by riseelectric



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Fist Fights, Gen, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-17 06:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseelectric/pseuds/riseelectric
Summary: In another universe, in another lifetime, Iwaizumi finds him and patches him up.Or, an AU where Oikawa grows up without volleyball or Hajime in his life, until now.[hiatus]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Thrice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pyA_lSJXK4). More of a vent-fic than anything plot inspired; I don't think this is The road Oikawa would have taken if he never played volleyball/met Iwa-chan, but it might be one of them. And uh, I don't have a beta, just a head's up.

The itch under his skin has been gnawing at him for the past two weeks, an irritating restlessness like ants marching up inside of his flesh. It's worst in his hands, the systematic crawl scattering into a haphazard frenzy that makes Tooru clench his fingers until his palms are littered with red crescents. Jamming both hands into a basin of ice water and keeping them there until his digits are red and completely numb helps, until they thaw and the itch multiplies by tenfold. He's ground the inside of his cheek into raw hamburger, his nails torn and bitten to the quick. One foot jiggles constantly under his desk as he sits in homeroom, stifled, smiling wanly at as he pretends to listen to his classmates and friends when they speak to him. He doesn't begrudge their lack of understanding. Tooru pinches the insides of his wrists, rolling his skin between his nails idly, watches as capillaries burst underneath and blossom under the persistent scrape.

Later, when he throws the first punch, the skin on his knuckles do more than that. They skin and bleed as Tooru scrapes them across the other boy's teeth, and Tooru's own mouth lifts in a snarl as he flings himself bodily at him. It's not that late in the evening, but the moon has already shown itself, pale and glinting off belt buckles and rings and the urban decay littering the narrow alleyway. This close up, the contrast in their differing school uniforms matters little, and his eyes look like disks, the whites of his eyes gleaming and wide as he slugs Tooru back across the cheekbone, giving back as good as he got.

His friend closes in, hemming in Tooru from two sides. Not that he gives a shit, his hands finally have something to do and he relishes the atmosphere, relishes the fury in the air and the bite and sting of his growing collection of hurts. It's not like in the movies where they take him on individually under the guise of a group attack; the second Tooru is preoccupied with smashing his fist into one's eye, the other one is aiming a kick at him, a kick he doesn't bother dodging but takes with a grunt. His neck is immobilised in a headlock; Tooru stomps his heel into the other's toes, grinds down and simultaneously drives his elbow deep into the boy's gut. He lets Tooru go, all the breath driven out of him, and Tooru looks up to be met head-on with a backslap that makes blood well uncontrollably up in his mouth.

He laughs, and next second hurls himself at his attacker. The force of his shoulder colliding square against the boy's chest makes him stagger backwards and immediately Tooru is up in his face, twisting his hair between his palms until he feels them part from the scalp. He yanks the boy's face down as he brings his knee up. There's a crunch; the boy staggers again, his nose waterfalling red.

Tooru licks at his own split lip, wiping slippery fingers on his pants. Swallows a mouthful of coppery saliva. He is buzzing, the itch metamorphosing from an aggravation to a endless well of adrenaline he keeps drawing on with no regard for the consequences. 

Behind him, the first boy charges, arms locking around Tooru's waist and torso and pinning his arms. He's flung to the ground onto his back, all the air in him leaving with a whoosh, and through the slits of his eyes he sees teeth bared in an echo of his own expression. Tooru shoves at him, struggling like an insect impaled on the end a needle. He grabs, clutches at the soft flesh of the other's throat, and his fingers turn into claws as they dig in with a vengeance.

He lets go when an impact against his head turns his cheek almost a full ninety degrees to the right. He feels a tooth loosen in its gums, and when he coughs his spit is more blood than saliva. Time slows to a crawl;he can feel the flesh around his left eye swell and purple. Stars wink above him. His eyes are shut. He sees the sky.

Another blow lands on him, muted by the smack of knuckle on flesh. Again, and again, and again as the undercurrent in him thrums red and alive, wasps in his ribcage, sparrows in his throat. Tooru wriggles as best he can but the weight on his chest keeps him down. There is pain, but it's muted. He's deaf to everything but the thump of his own heartbeat as it beats a tattoo against the inside of his skull. Smells and tastes nothing except copper, sees an infinite galaxy stretching out ahead of him. He raises his hand to catch the kaleidoscope of lights, reaching out in front of him, and something slams his wrist back down with a crunch, the bottom of a shoe crushing the back of his hand against pavement.

In an abstract part of his mind, Tooru thinks he may have bitten off a little more than he can chew.

Even more vaguely, he thinks he might not care. The itch is muted, if only for now, and it's the only thing he's wanted for the past fourteen days.

He's just considering feigning passing out-- or actually passing out, since that possibility is becoming more and more real the longer he lies there, taking it -- until he's suddenly aware that there's a commotion. There's yelling from all sides, and Tooru forces himself to try to lift his head as the weight above him suddenly lessens, disappears. He wheezes, taking his first proper lungful of air in what feels like forever.

He pays the racket in the background no attention, using all his remaining mental faculties to propel himself into rolling onto his stomach. Somehow, he gets onto his hands and knees, head bowed. He's dizzy, face throbbing, mouth hanging slack and dripping. His vision is blurry in one eye. By the time he finally registers the presence of a fourth person, it's only because the stranger's shadow falls over him. In front of him. They're still shouting. Judging from his voice, it's a fourth boy.

Tooru blinks. As he watches, the stranger snatches up an empty bottle off from the grimy pavement, holding it by the neck. The bottom is smashed into the curb, shattering with a noise that to Tooru sounds like a million shards of broken mirror scraping against one another. He winces. His ears aren't so deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat anymore. The newcomer's back is to him, but his voice rings out strong and clear as he stands with feet planted. Tooru looks up at him, (up, and up, and up) and sees teal on white.

"Holy shit," he says aloud to nobody, aware of nothing except the glint of moonlight off the end of the broken bottle, glinting sharp enough that it seems it could cut Tooru just by looking at it. Idly, Tooru notices that the dark fingers are actually quivering with fury and the force of the grip. "You are kind of a thug."

Noise filters back in increments, coherence following not long after. The other two boys are retreating. His self-designated saviour growls and takes a step forward, as if he wants to pursue them. Tooru grabs at the white and teal coat, rubbing into it his crimson fingerprints. Fabric strains against his fingers.

"Let them go, it's fine." he croaks. He realises he's slightly nauseated from swallowing so much blood.

The other boy looks down at him, doubt furrowing his brow. The set of his jaw is firm, righteously angry.

"Have you _seen_ yourself? They didn't look like they were about to stop until your face stopped being exactly that!"

"Stop yelling. And... I did start it." Tooru says truthfully, and the doubt on the other's face turns incredulous and perplexed as he falters. It's a little cute. It's a lot annoying.

"Still," the other insists, although a little more slowly, "it was two against one. It wasn't _fair_." 

Tooru shrugs. Using his grip on the other's jacket, he tries to pull himself to his feet, and almost topples, knees quivering worse than jello as adrenaline leaves him fast. He would have fallen were it not for the other boy's chest and arms morphing into a solid wall of muscle that Tooru steadies himself on and rests his forehead unabashedly against. He doesn't have to look up to know his knight in shining armour is grimacing, if the little twitches he's exhibiting are anything to go by.

But he doesn't let go, hands pressed against Tooru's sides, half-wrapping around him and taking their share of the weight. Lets Tooru just stand there and close his eyes and shiver, trying to get his bearings back enough for them to start walking.

"Hey." A little softer this time. The boy's palms feel warm through the material of Tooru's shirt. He's rubbing them in little vague circles. It feels nice. He's also shorter than Tooru, and the result is that his query is spoken almost directly into Tooru's hair. Warm breath ghosts over individual strands that aren't matted down by red.

"What's your name?"

Tooru gives the question the consideration it deserves, then finally decides he doesn't care about what the other boy wants to do with his identity. Report him to his school, report him to the police, whatever he wants. "Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru."

"I'm Iwaizumi."

"Okay."

The blood is starting to dry. It itches something crazy, especially around his nostrils and his chin. In contrast, the bruises are throbbing something fierce now, the skin of his face burning and starting to puff up. Tooru swears. He fists his fingers into the fabric of the shirt in front of his eyes. It's teal as well, and the smudges of red he leaves there look like flowering petals. Pretty, in a sort of way. Belatedly, it hits him that he's more than a little delirious. If the verdict is that he has a concussion, it would come as no surprise.

"Oi, don't die on me. And stop laughing like that, it's creepy."

Tooru sniffs in disdain, and regrets immediately. Dried blood up the nose, not good. "Stop overreacting. I'm not going to _die_ , Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi stiffens. "What'd you call me?"

"Nothing, Iwaizumi-san. Nothing."

"Just Iwaizumi is fine."

"Okay, Just-Iwaizumi."

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

"No," Tooru lies, because it's hard to tell in the iffy light.

With that, Iwaizumi deems him fit enough to walk, and they pry away from one another readily enough. Tooru sways a little when they start walking, and Iwaizumi is more perceptive than he lets on because as soon as he's gone he's back, a presence at Tooru's shoulder.

"C'mere. Lean on me."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Iwaizumi ignores that and places himself by Tooru's side. Tooru is just about to raise his eyebrows when Iwaizumi makes his move. And... all he does is to press against Tooru's side, linking their arms together loosely. Nothing else.

"Okay, let's go."

It's simple and effective. Tooru lets his head drop onto Iwaizumi's shoulder, focusing on shuffling his feet one after the other as the other boy guides the rest of him. The hum under his skin has dulled, quieted down until he can't even feel it anymore. Weariness seeps into him with every step he takes as his body slowly catches up to the events in the past hour. As they round a corner, Tooru suddenly realises he didn't ask where they were going.

"Hey, wait. Where're you taking me?"

Iwaizumi glances at him. "I didn't bring my phone, so I thought we'd get to the nearest store and ask them to get you an ambulance."

"Oh, what? No!" Tooru tries to tug himself away, but Iwaizumi squeezes their arms tighter. Tooru scowls mightily; it feels like Iwaizumi's cutting off his blood flow without even trying.

"And why not?" Iwaizumi demands. "Oikawa, your face is mashed potatoes right now!"

"No, it's not! No ambulances, Iwa-chan!"

"I knew I didn't hear wrong. And we're not friends, don't call me that!"

"Or what, Iwa- _chan_?"

"Or--or I'll--"

"Or you'll what, Iwa-chan? Hmm? You'll what? Hit me?"

"You--I'll--  _something_!" the newly dubbed Iwa-chan shouts.

"You'll 'something'," Tooru sneers. "wow, I'm really terrified now."

Seeming to realise that Tooru's got the upper hand in the Calling Bluffs department, Iwaizumi changes tack at the speed of light. "Who even acts like this?! What are you, five?!"

To which Tooru musters all the dignity his eighteen years have afforded him in this world and responds with the incredibly mature gesture of pulling his lower eyelid down and sticking out his tongue. 

Iwaizumi can't seem to decide if he wants to gawp in incredulity at the sheer immaturity Tooru is displaying, or if he wants to strangle him. He settles for making throttling gestures to the air with his hands, like he's pretending it's Tooru's neck.

"I win," Tooru says smugly, turning away. He begins heading in the opposite direction. To his chagrin, Iwaizumi grabs him again. " _Ow!_ "

His raised voice echoes in the night air. At the over-the-top shout, Iwaizumi Immediately drops his wrist, the furrow of his eyebrows changing from irritated to worry. It happens so quick and so instinctively that even Tooru can't felt feeling a tiny bit guilty. He's not sure why.

"Oh shit, sorry! Did I hurt--? Oh. Wow." A stare. "You're a dick."

"You didn't hurt me." Tooru admits begrudgingly, rubbing at side of one arm a little awkwardly.

Iwaizumi rubs his hand through his hair. Now that they're standing apart, Tooru can see just how much of a gross mess he's made of the other's clothes, red-brown fingerprints obvious against his crumpled shirt and once-pristine jacket, and he wonders why Iwaizumi doesn't appear to mind at all. The other boy is frowning again, this time in contemplation as he eyes Tooru up and down. With some interest, Tooru recognises his look as the expression of one who is about to propose a compromise.

"How about this," Iwaizumi finally says. "no ambulances, like you want. We go back to... your house, my house, doesn't matter. We get you patched up. But tomorrow, you've got to visit a clinic _first_ thing."

Tooru isn't impressed. "What are you, my mom?"

Without warning, Iwaizumi steps closer, crowding into Tooru's space. Offended, and once again unsure of the reason why, Tooru stands his ground and glowers down. He's got a few centimeters on Iwaizumi and he intends to use them to their full extent.

"Oikawa, I'm serious. You look like shit."

"I don't see how that makes it your busin--"

The other boy explodes. "You _scared_ me, all right?! I was fucking scared, back there! The least you could do for taking ten years off my life is to make sure it wasn't for nothing!"

There's a small silence in which Iwaizumi glares daggers at him, and Tooru stares back, incredulity rising in him. Momentarily, he forgets about every protest his body is making to him. "Why the fuck would you be scared?" he asks, almost demands. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, gee, I dunno," Iwaizumi growls, and this time there's a note of real anger there, like he thinks Tooru's asking stupid questions on purpose. "Maybe because any decent person would be terrified at coming across a situation where they might've been too late to save someone else? Maybe because I had no idea what I was doing? What if they'd rushed us both instead of running off, huh? What then?"

Tooru opens his mouth uncertainly. "But. But you were holding that bottle like you knew what you were doing. It look practiced."

"Fuck no it wasn't! What kind of psycho would practice that kind of shit? I saw it on TV once and it was the only thing I could think to do!"

Tooru had watched Iwaizumi's hand tremble on the grip of the broken bottle. He'd thought it to be anger at the time. Now that he knows it's not, he finds himself going over some serious re-evaluation.

For a long while, Tooru says nothing. Neither does Iwaizumi, whose arms are now crossed so tightly it seemed unlikely he'd uncross them for several years. Also, he hasn't stopped glaring. The evening air is cool against Tooru's swollen cheek, and a little ahead of them, a streetlight flickers brokenly. Gradually, he becomes aware of crickets chirping.

"Fine." Tooru says, suddenly. He's tired, he really is, and at this point Iwaizumi looks like he's carved out of marble. An unfaltering, immovable statue who refuses to change his stance until Tooru does, or until hell freezes over. "Let's go to your place."

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Really? You're not about to run away?"

Tooru tries to raise an eyebrow, and immediately winces as his brow flares in pain. "Normally I would, but right now I'm too tired to."

"Thanks for your honesty."

"Yeah, yeah."

Tooru holds out an arm impatiently. Iwaizumi-- Iwa-chan -- blinks down at it, and then finally reciprocates.

They set off down the silent street, two blood-stained boys linked arm in arm, one leaning heavily against the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, this isn't how you break a bottle from the bottom. The real way involves water. JUST MENTIONING THIS BECAUSE I DID DO MY RESEARCH.


End file.
